


s1e12: the landlord

by trasharama



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Crack, F/M, argumentative friends to lovers, but the three way doesn't actually happen lmao, new girl universe, rey the tinkerer, three way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:27:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27788248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trasharama/pseuds/trasharama
Summary: “Rey, you can’t be sending chicken bones down the garbage disposal!”“Says who?”“Says everyone!”“It’s a garbage disposal, and chicken bones are garbage I need to dispose!”“I’m calling the landlord, he needs to fix this, I won’t--”“You can’t call the landlord!” shout Rose, Finn, Poe, and Rey all at once, looking at him with raised arms and wide eyes.***or, Ben and Rey play a game of chicken by "almost" having a threesome with their landlord, Mister Snoke.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo
Comments: 10
Kudos: 93
Collections: Who's that ship? It's Reylo!





	s1e12: the landlord

**Author's Note:**

> hi here have some unedited trash lol
> 
> can't believe i got this done before the deadline wtf
> 
> the fun perfect piece of art below i commissioned from the immensely talented [@faunary](https://twitter.com/faunary) on twitter

Ben Solo knows he has pretty eyes.

They’re big and round and shining pretty much all the time, and for some reason multiple women from his varied escapades have pronounced them _liquid amber_ , as though it’s a common description for anyone’s irises outside of cheesy romance novels.

Which Ben Solo has also read, because he’s, well, _sensitive_.

So sensitive, in fact, that even cynical, arrogant, _infuriating_ Rey Johnson has finally-- _finally!--_ broken down at his behest.

Finn and Poe and Rose are standing in the kitchen with them, staring at anything but the two fighting. Finn’s decided that his bare feet are particularly interesting, and Poe is studying an apple with rigorous fascination, and Rose is picking at her fingernails even though they’re as perfect as one’s manicure can be. Anything to get out of being dragged into yet another Ben versus Rey fight.

She’s standing there covered in whatever’s exploded from the garbage disposal. It looks like a combination of chopped-up corn cobs, sopping, clumped paper towels, and… is that orange stuff vomit?

If it’s not, it certainly smells like it.

In her hands is a big wooden stick, the plunger part of it protruding from the sink, looking like a beheaded king, broken and useless.

Ben gags. “I--holy, fucking God--Rey, do you _see what you’ve done?_ ”

Rey’s entire face is pinched, like she’s trying to pull herself together and desperately failing. Her lips keep wobbling and her eyes are narrowed so tightly that they’re just slits.

“It would’ve been _fine_ ,” she bites out, “if you’d just _stayed out of the way,_ Ben!”

“You think you’re a fixer and you’re _not!”_

“This garbage disposal has been working perfectly well with my methods until _your_ little prissy sasquatch feet waltzed your giant body in and started giving the disposal three times as much in food scraps as it’s used to receiving!”

“Rey, I’m not the one shoving… used paper towels and--and corn cobs and--is that a fucking chicken bone in your hair, you cave woman?”

“So what if it is!”

“ _You can’t be sending chicken bones down the garbage disposal!”_

“Says who?”

“Says everyone!”

“It’s a _garbage disposal_ , and chicken bones are _garbage I need to dispose!”_

“I’m calling the landlord, he needs to fix this, I won’t--”

“You can’t call the landlord!” shout Rose, Finn, Poe, and Rey all at once, looking at him with raised arms and wide eyes.

“What?” he asks. “Why the fuck not? This is his job!”

“The landlord is fucking creepy, Ben,” Rose says.

“He’s mean and dwells in the basement like a weirdo, you can’t call him. He’ll come in and fuck shit up,” Finn interjects.

“What do you mean, he’ll fuck shit up?” Ben turns from the group to Rey. “Do you even see yourself right now? This is absurd! You’re covered head to toe in _shit!”_

“I think this is leftover marsala from a few nights ago.”

“Does that make it any better!” Ben shouts. “It is _rotten food,_ Rey!”

“I don’t mind it,” she says, shrugging. “I needed to shower, anyway.”

“You’re ridiculous.” The group stares on, silent. “You’re all fucking out of your minds!”

“I’d rather be crazy than interact with the landlord,” Finn says. “But I guess it’s your grave.”

  
  


***

He doesn’t call the landlord.

Right away, that is.

Ben has a foolproof, five-step plan to get the landlord out of hiding and willingly into their apartment to fix the various broken things: 

  1. Banana bread
  2. “I’m a teacher”
  3. “My students need me at my best”
  4. More banana bread
  5. Maybe make some cupcakes but I only know how to bake banana bread



It’s written on the whiteboard in his room, which means that snoopy Rey Johnson is of course reading it right this second. She’s not very subtle and she leaves the door wide open, so when he spots her from the hallway stooped over his desk, he knows what she’s doing.

This shameless creature.

He stands in the doorway, oven mitts on, tin of bread in his hands. She spins around.

Rey regards him with this weird expression, lips pursed and eyes narrowed, a single brow cocked to her hairline. It's exasperated, maybe a little amused, mostly astounded. His little whiteboard is in her hand, and her fingers keep twitching for the marker on his desk.

"You made… banana bread for the creepy landlord?"

"He can't be that bad. And I can't go another day trying to flush your unflushable toilet."

"It's _not_ unflushable. Just fill the coffee can up in the sink, hook it back up to the hole in the wall, thread the chain through it, and _yank!"_

“You _must_ realize how untenable that is.”

“You’re untenable,” she fires back.

He can’t help but snort. “Good one, Johnson.”

Her lips rise into a tight grin, just for a second. “I can’t believe you actually baked for the landlord. He’s not going to appreciate it, I promise.”

“How do you know?” he asks. “Have you ever tried my famous banana bread?”

“Can’t be _that_ good,” she claims.

“You should try some. I left a whole tin of it on the stove.”

“I’ll try it as soon as the _landlord_ comes and fixes something.”

“Good!” Ben exclaims, startling her. “Because he’ll be here as soon as I take him this and ask him to help us!”

“Uh huh,” she says, smirking. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“I’m gonna rock your world, Johnson.” 

He turns away, entirely convinced he imagined the blush staining her cheeks. It’s a trick of the light; Rey Johnson doesn’t _blush_. 

Especially not for him.

***

The basement _is_ dingy. As basements often are. It’s a little cold, sure, and the lighting is something straight out of _Silence of the Lambs_ , but it’s homey enough. There’s a bed, at least, and a little television set up on a very cluttered, _very_ anxiety-provoking dining room table, which clearly doubles as a work space if the tools strewn about are any indication.

There the landlord sits, wrinkled, old, in a yellow robe and nothing else.

And you’ll never hear it come out of his mouth, but maybe Ben’s a little creeped out. Just a bit. Hardly at all, really.

“Boy,” the old man chuffs, and Ben jumps. “What do you want?”

“Hi sir,” he says, slow, like he’s talking to a startled animal. “I’m Ben Solo. I live in apartment 4C.”

“Ummph.”

“I, uh--” Ben clears his throat and sets the baking tin on the table. “I baked you this. It’s banana bread.” The man only stares. “I--mm, I was hoping I could get you to come fix something for us? Upstairs?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“But, sir, I--”

“Snoke,” the man interrupts. “My name is Snoke. And I don’t fix things. Do I look like a fixer to you?”

“I don’t know,” Ben says honestly. “All I know is the five of us--”

“Five?” Snoke’s tone has gotten even sharper, and it leaves no room for interpretation: Ben has clearly fucked something up. “That apartment is only supposed to have _four_ people in it.”

“Oh?” Ben says, voice breaking. “Oh, did I say five? I--yeah, I definitely meant four. I just counted myself twice, how stupid of me! That’s all there are, four of us! Anyway, I should go back up to hang out with my _three_ roommates, three plus me, which equals four.” He steps backwards to the stairs with each word, and turns when he reaches the first step, relieved, ready to leave, taking them two at a time. “Enjoy the banana bread!”

Rey is waiting for him when he returns, perched on the couch and staring at the front door.

Staring at _him_ , he guesses, panting and out of breath, leaning against the door and locking the deadbolt behind him.

“I made a mistake,” he says.

“You made a mistake,” she says, nodding. “What kind of mistake?”

“Nothing. Nothing bad at all.”

“Ben, what did you do?”

“I just told you, nothing!”

“Why are you out of breath?”

“It’s nothing, really! He’s not a fan of baked goods, I don’t think at least, and that’s fine! Sweets aren’t everyone’s thing, fuck, they aren’t even really _my_ favorite--”

There’s a loud knock at the door to interrupt his rambling. Three firm, confident, _angry_ knocks.

Rey leaps up off the couch, eyes wide, teeth bared as she hisses, “ _What did you do_?”

“Nothing!” Ben whispers. “Just--pretend we’re not here!”

“He knows you’re here!” she whisper-shouts back. “He probably watched you run in!”

“No way,” he says, thinking of how frail the man had looked. There’s certainly no circumstance in which Snoke could’ve matched Ben’s panicked speed.

“He has a key, Ben!”

“Open up!” Snoke says, pounding on the door again.

Rey freezes, and sighs, and looks up at him. She looks like she has Ben pegged, but there’s no way, is there? No way she’s guessed so fast.

“You didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?”

“You did, didn’t you?”

“Did _what_?”

“Oh my god,” she says, slapping a hand to her forehead. “I knew you couldn’t be trusted! You’re a serial rambler! Of course you would tell him we have more people living here than we’re legally allowed!”

“I would never!”

“Yes, you would!”

“No, I wouldn’t!”

“Ben,” she says, “Ben, that is _clearly_ why he is here.”

“You don’t know that!” he argues while she rounds toward him. “He could be here to--to fix the garbage disposal, or--or maybe he tried my banana bread and wants to tell me how delicious it is, or--”

“You know that’s not what he’s here for!” she shouts, the whispers long gone. “Open the door and get him in here, we need to stall him.”

Defeated, Ben unlocks the door and opens it. Snoke stands there, face red and body frail, hand outstretched to pound against the wood again. He takes a step forward through the threshold, plants his gaze on Ben before letting it fall to Rey.

“Miss Johnson,” he greets.

“Hi, Mister Snoke. How’re you doing?”

“I heard you may have _five_ people living in this apartment. Is that true?”

Not one for small talk, this man.

“I told you downstairs, though!” Ben interjects, closing his eyes tight to curse himself for a split second. “I just miscounted!”

“Uh-huh.” Snoke closes the door behind him. “Let’s inspect the apartment, then. Show me the bedrooms.”

Rey starts leading the way, albeit as slow as physically possible, but she comes to a hard finish at the hallway, stopping to spin around and face Ben and Snoke.

“Can we get you something to drink, Mister Snoke?” she asks. “Or Ben made his famous banana bread, we have some on the stove!”

Her sickly sweet tone is one that Ben does not particularly enjoy. It’s fake and he wishes she’d stop making fun of his banana bread. If she’d just _try_ it she would realize that it’s _amazing_ and totally worthy of being famous.

But he also supposes that’s not really the point, something he realizes tenfold when he sees Rose and Poe and Finn in the hallway, shoving a mattress out the window. Poe grabs a suitcase out of nowhere when they succeed, and puts on the dumbest top hat in the entire world.

“Oh, ‘ello,” he says in a pathetic French accent. “So rude of me, I am afraid I must be going now. You all have been zee best hosts ever, but it is time for me to return to _Le Petit Fromage_ , my home town!”

“Bye!” Finn says, waving him out. They round the corner and skirt past Snoke, and Poe leaves in a flurry, the apartment door slamming shut behind them. Finn turns to the group. “Great guy, that one. Sad to see him go!”

“Devastating,” Rey says, putting her hand on her heart. “I forgot he was leaving today, that’s how much he connected with me over the last few days! So as you can see, Mister Snoke, just four of us here! We had a guest, Ben was confused and he’s always so forgetful, that one!”

The room falls silent. Finn and Rose and Rey and Ben all stare at Snoke until he rolls his eyes. “Whatever,” he mutters. “Just get the fifth person on the lease.”

“What fifth person?” Rey quips.

“I’m going back to my basement,” Snoke says, ignoring her.

“Wait!” Ben shouts, far too loud considering Snoke has only taken three steps away from them. “Since you’re here, maybe… well, maybe I could get you to fix a couple of things for us?”

Snoke stops. He doesn’t move for a good thirty seconds, and he’s so still that Ben wonders if maybe he’s about to keel over. Then he turns his creepy little head to face him fully, and points a finger in his direction.

“You,” Snoke says. “I’ll fix one thing, for _you_.”

Ben pricks up a little. Smirks against his will, right at Rey, because this _must_ be because of the banana bread, and what an _idiot_ she is, not believing him. Not _trusting_ him.

“Please!” Ben says. “My closet door, it sticks. Rey’s tried to mess with it, she’s a tinkerer--” Snoke glares at Rey and Rey glares at Ben. “--but she hasn’t been able to get it sliding smoothly. It’s the _worst_.”

“Okay,” Snoke says. “Lead the way.”

As he walks past Rey, he sticks out his tongue: _fuck you_ , the childish gesture says, _and_ _go try my banana bread._

***

It takes minutes for Snoke to fix Ben’s closet door.

Literally minutes.

And that leaves Ben wondering why on earth Rose and Finn and Poe and Rey all said that Snoke was a useless piece of shit, because they probably could’ve had all of their issues solved in minutes if they had an ounce of the charm Ben clearly possesses.

He says as much to Rey while Snoke offers to pave up a crack on the wall, since he’s got plaster that needs using in the basement, anyways.

“Fuck you,” Rey says back with a snort. “He wants to get in your pants, Solo.”

“That’s preposterous!” 

“Pretty boy like you?” she teases. “There’s only one thing an old man like that would want to spend a day fixing things around an apartment, and I’m telling you, he’s felt no loyalty to us till you came along. It’s not because of your _charm_ , it’s because of your dick.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Ben bites back. “He’s just the landlord, and when you treat someone with dignity and respect, they’ll do the same for you!”

“Okay, sure,” Rey says. “Why don’t you invite him for dinner tonight? Since he’s doing all this work for you with no compensation expected. I’ll hang around, and then when he leaves I can shove a big _told you so_ in your face.”

“What do you think he’d do at a dinner with _you_ in attendance?”

“Ah, so you want to have one by yourself, then? Maybe you’re reciprocating those feelings? No shame in that, even if he does have a million wrinkles!”

“You’re an asshole,” Ben says. “Fine, let’s have dinner with him. I’ll prove to you that he doesn’t want me at all, he’s just being a decent person.”

“I look forward to proving you embarrassingly wrong.”

***

Of course, Snoke says yes to dinner. 

Finn and Rose go out with Poe to keep up their ruse, even though it’s clear that Snoke knows Poe actually lives there and isn’t a real French visitor. 

So it’s just him and Rey, waiting for their landlord to come up and join them, because he wanted to go back to his basement and change out of his… he’d referred to them as _day clothes_.

He’d referred to his _robe_ as _day clothes_.

Ben can tell by the look on Rey’s face that she’s holding back a laugh when Snoke walks back in, a Hawaiian shirt tucked into cargo shorts. The golden robe stays draped over his shoulders, too.

How rude of her.

But dinner passes pleasantly enough, if a little awkwardly. Snoke brings a bottle of wine he says he fermented himself, and Ben takes a brave gulp of it to prove Rey wrong, even though it tastes like rubbing alcohol and will most definitely poison him. 

Snoke offers Rey a cup and her only response is, “No thanks. Need to stay sober. In case you decide to do something to our dear lightweight, over there.”

Which doesn’t really help with the awkward vibes, but what’s a man to do? Snoke doesn’t seem bothered by it, in any case, so at least he’ll probably still fix the garbage disposal tomorrow.

Maybe Ben is feeling the effects of that one unbearable sip of fermented bathtub alcohol, because when they all sit down on the couch after their meal, he can smell Rey’s pretty floral perfume and has to bite his tongue so that he won’t ask her to sit on his lap.

“You know,” Ben says instead to distract himself, “you and Snoke actually have a lot in common!”

“Yeah, right,” Rey scoffs.

“It’s true! You both went through pretty painful breakups recently--Snoke told me earlier that he went through a messy divorce, and Finn told me that when you and Mitaka broke up last year, you went through three pints of ice cream in a night and went to the park down the street everyday to scream at trees.”

“It was therapeutic,” Rey mutters, looking down at her lap.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Rey,” Snoke says. “Such spunk in you still!”

“I--” Rey looks up at Snoke and then to Ben, eyes narrowed. “Thanks, I guess.”

“I killed my enemy. Crushed her, really,” Snoke adds.

“What?” Ben and Rey say at the same time.

“Yeah, my ex wife left all of these dolls behind that meant a lot to her. I hated them. She wanted them back and I said I’d mail them, but I actually just burned them. Well, some of them I put into pots of chemicals. So that they lost their faces and hair. Yeah, when I told her that, it crushed her. Real bad.”

“Oh.” Rey shrugs. “Yeah, no, I never really did anything like--”

“Ben over there, he’s got this raw, untamed power, don’t you think? It makes me completely forget about my ex-wife.”

“I’m sorry?” Rey hiccups, looking to Ben, who shrugs.

“Anyway, bathroom break.”

Snokes stands up and walks off, leaving Rey and Ben to stare at each other.

“See?” Ben says, deciding to break the tension. “He’s a good guy!”

“Good guy?” Rey asks. “Did you hear the story of the dolls?”

“They were dolls!”

“Okay,” she scoffs. “Have you not seen how he’s been sidling up to you all night? He brought that wine to try to sate you!”

“Sate me into what?”

“Taking your pants off, clearly.”

“Oh, god, this again.”

“Yes, this again, Ben! If I weren’t here he’d be all over you!”

“That’s not true!”

“It is!”

“Is not!”

“Is--”

Rey’s about to launch them into the most childish of arguments, but is cut off short, and for good reason: Snoke returns from the bathroom, and he’s… pantsless.

“Hey Snoke,” Ben says. “Um, where’d your pants go?”

“Where there was once conflict, I now sense resolve. I’m ready to move this party in the bedroom.”

“Bedroom?” Rey demands, while Ben’s gaze snaps up from Snoke’s boxers to his face, surprised at the turn of events.

“That’s where all this is heading, right? Three-way? I’ll go grab the rest of the wine.”

“Three-way?” Rey whispers to Ben, frantic as for some reason they follow Snoke into her bedroom. “A fucking _three-way_?”

“Figured a woman’s touch might be good, so her room it is!” Snoke calls back.

Rey grabs Ben’s shoulder before he can follow blindly.

“A _three-way_ , Ben?” she demands outside the door.

“Okay,” Ben says slowly. “Okay, so… so maybe I misjudged the situation.”

“Misjudged!” Rey laughs. “There’s a pantsless old man in my bedroom waiting for us to _fuck him!”_

“He’s had a hard go of it, with his ex wife, with everything! He lives in a basement!”

“He lives in a basement,” Rey repeats, nodding. “Ben, just because he lives in a basement and got a divorce does not mean he’s deserving of your pity or your understanding.”

“He just needs a friend.”

“I can’t believe you! Okay, fine. If you feel so bad for him, why don’t you go give him this pity fuck?”

“He wants it with both of us.”

“Fine, then I’ll come too!”

“You’ll… come… too.”

“He wants both of us, he’s got both of us!”

“Well,” Ben sputters, “good!”

“Great! Lead the way!”

“I will!”

He does.

Snoke has music playing on her stereo when they walk in, something upbeat and hokey that does _not_ fit either mood, for Snoke’s hopeful three-way and Ben’s dreaded death-by-humiliation.

“This,” Snoke says, “is a menage a trois. It’s about the three of us,” he gestures his fingers around in a circle, “ _trois_ , menage-ing, fully.”

“Sure,” Rey says, bouncing her body around to the beat of the music. It’s a ridiculous dance, but… okay, maybe Ben finds it a little endearing.

“So, here,” Snoke says, and suddenly he’s behind Ben, pressing cold, old hands against his shoulders. Ben cringes against the touch. “We’ll start with this, get you nice and loose, Ben, that’ll be good, right? I’ll massage those aches away while Miss Johnson here watches. I’ll unbutton my clothes and slip off my robe, but I’ll leave my underpants on--those are for you to take off, whenever you want.”

Rey hides a manic laugh with a cough. He starts mouthing things at her, his eyes wide and panicked, and she watches and keeps dancing and waits for him to buckle, to panic and say _he was wrong._

He feels breath against his neck, lips approaching.

And his world falls apart, because Rey’s eyes grow wide, now, too, and she looks _furious_ , not amused. Not anymore.

And suddenly her hands are on him, ripping Ben away from Snoke’s grasp.

“ _Stop,”_ she shouts, pulling Ben behind her. “I’m sorry Mister Snoke, but I don’t think we can go through with this. I’m just… too… full?”

Snoke takes a thoughtful pause. “That dinner was very large.”

Which is a weird thing to say.

“Yeah,” Rey says, going along with it. “Yeah, it was just too big. I think maybe it’d be best for you to go back downstairs, because I’m definitely about to crash, and Ben gets really weird after he eats chicken.”

“Weird?” Snoke asks, though he picks his pants up from the corner of the room he stashed them in.

“Yeah, delusional, almost! Chicken just does not agree with him.”

“Okay,” Snoke says, like this is a normal affliction. “Well, maybe some other time, then. You know where to find me.”

“We sure do, Mister Snoke! Thanks for all your help today!” 

Ben follows Rey to the front door, but doesn’t say a word, and when Snoke leaves with a final, bizarrely friendly wave, she spins around and dawns on him the most ferocious glare of all time.

“If I didn’t know any better,” Ben says, starting to grin, “I’d say you were almost jea--”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish, because Rey throws herself around his neck and plants her lips on his.

“You’re such a good guy,” she whispers in earnest when they break away, “just--just the best--”

He molds them together again. Her lips are soft and warm and a little dry--he’s always noticed how she doesn’t drink enough water during the day, and they always crack in the evenings. Usually he offers her chapstick, though that doesn’t seem entirely necessary right now, not with his tongue licking the inside of her mouth and her arms wrapped around him and her legs around his hips.

He ruts into her against the door like a virgin teenager, hard and aching in his pants, content to just grind into the warmth of her jeans-covered cunt.

“That was the scariest thing I’ve ever seen,” Rey says as he plants kisses down the slope of her neck. “God, watching him… touch you like that, it was--”

“My own knight in shining armour,” he whispers, flicking the lobe of her ear with his tongue.

“I’m sorry,” she says, threading her hands into his hair, “that I didn’t listen to you. I’ve just got a big ego, I like being right.”

“You _were_ right,” Ben admits. He presses another kiss to her lips and moans. “So, so, so fucking right. You always are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m--” She cuts herself off when he cups her jeans, presses his fingers as deeply against her pussy as he can.

“Yes, you are,” he says, the final word as he leads them to the couch. “That wine was… so fucking gross. You were right about that. He wanted in my pants, you were right about that. And--”

“Just fucking come here,” she says, pulling him down again. 

He stumbles into her, tries to unbutton her jeans when he realizes that, from this angle, he’ll never be able to. So he shimmies up and around, bracketing her head with his legs and leaning his face down to her thigh.

She gasps.

“Can I taste you?” he asks. “Just to get the taste of that alcohol out of my mouth.”

“Of course,” Rey says. “For no other reason.”

“No ulterior motives here.”

“None.” He can hear the smile in her voice. 

She lifts her hips and lets him slide her pants off, and she’s wearing little blue boyshorts underneath, which is so very _Rey_ , so fitting, the sexiest thing he’s really ever seen. Her own hands are unbuckling his belt, and he can’t let her win at _this_ , can’t let her get to him first, so he peels back the thin layer of fabric and buries her face in her cunt with abandon.

Her movement halts, hand frozen on his dick.

She moans.

He licks a path to her clit and holds her thighs up for better access, and it seems to get her ass into gear, because she remembers herself, uncovered his cock and stuffs the entire hardened thing in her mouth. It’s impulse that leads him to hump her face, to hit the back of her throat and feel her gag around him. It does animalistic things to him, makes him shout into cunt words that should never be spoken aloud.

He plies her with soft words.

“You taste so good,” he whispers, and she gurgles a muffled groan against his balls. “So much better than the wine.”

She’s bucking against his mouth and chin and coating him in her slick; she’s such a wild thing, his stubborn Rey Johnson, who comes on his face with the impassioned moans of a shrieking whale.

A pretty whale, though.

The prettiest, really.

He has two fingers buried inside of her as she clenches, her thighs squeezing his head tight. He’s a heathen, Ben Solo, and it must be quite a sight, his torso in the air while he pumps against her face, moaning into her cunt.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m--Rey, I’m going to come, I’m gonna come in your mouth, okay sweetheart? Just let me--” He pauses to lick her clit again, and she twitches, nodding her head. “ _Fuck!”_

He comes and comes and _comes_. He feels it fill her mouth, hears her try to swallow it. When he comes up for air, pops his cock off her tongue, it dribbles onto her chin and coats her tits.

His girl, she tried so hard.

She’ll get there.

They pant next to each other for whole minutes. It’s silent and peaceful and Ben… well, he’s never felt so… understood.

“We should probably get up,” Rey says eventually. “We do have roommates, afterall.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“We should probably save that _wine_ too,” she says, standing up and holding her hand. “I bet it’d make us stay up for _hours_. And we need all the time we can get.”

“To do that again?” he asks.

“ _Please_.”

“I’d love to.” Ben threads his hand in hers. “But only if you call a plumber. I want our garbage disposal fixed.”

“Ugh.” When he peeks over at her, though, she’s smiling. “Fine, Solo. You got yourself a deal.”

But to be honest, he would’ve been fine if she’d said no.

His girl, the tinkerer.


End file.
